She does not understand the poetic invitation, not by his words, anyway. His pale body embraces her pressing curves, his thick chuckle resting deep in his throat and chest, his lips reaching to grasp for a lock of mane. "I’m no dancer, but it is good to share your company." She sounds anxious, but the shyness only encourages him. He had created a few dancers in his day, he muses with a shadowy humor.
Just he was about to begin his seduction, though, she lunges into a leap ahead and looks over her back to him. Her tail snaps, her eyes dark and hooded, He was not willing to let her little bravery pass him.
He is as graceful as he can be, maneuvering his large form atop her offered back. His teeth knead but do not bite, his hooking hooves gripping but keeping from dragging or scraping.
When he falls to the earth, spent, he is only too glad to keep touching, keep cooing. She is beautiful, fulfilling, and while she is not his - there is a carnal part of her that feels compelled to keep near to her. He determines there that his sister may be as she willed. She would find his lack of return reason enough to venture off, he knows. She was simply not as intoxicating as this woman with her mottled shyness and boldness.
“You dance beautifully, Pilar.” he murmurs into the hollow of her neck and cheek with an arched neck. “Do not doubt your ability for even a moment. Racing me, accepting me - you are the Lasya to my Tandava.”
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